


The Taylored Union Of The Heated Snakes

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Because BOYS On Film Look Better [9]
Category: Duran Duran, Duran Duran (Music Videos)
Genre: Car Sex, Desert, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, M/M, Music Videos - Freeform, Pining, Sweat, handjobs, heat - Freeform, men kissing, on location, shoots, stuck in a car, talented hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23298823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: The heat around them was stifling enough, never mind the lust that pooled between them.
Relationships: John Taylor/Roger Taylor (Duran Duran)
Series: Because BOYS On Film Look Better [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075265
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	The Taylored Union Of The Heated Snakes

_Australia, September 1983_

Burning up under the summer sun, John ran a deft hand across his forehead. He grunted upon seeing the makeup he had swiped away, the sweat that still pooled there. Shifting, he fingered the mirror, angling it down towards him.

He caught sight of Roger beside him, also terribly uncomfortable in all the thick layers of leather encasing his muscular body.

Neither Taylor could understand it, why it was written in stone that _Seven And The Ragged Tiger_ required A) no actual tiger or B) leather and leather only.

Even in the makeshift freaking desert, there they both were. Holed up in a ‘broken down’ _Range Rover_ of sorts and just sat there awaiting their cue to do… _heatstroke_. Or something else idiotic involving a hot climate.

Which was likely bound to happen anyways, the longer they were left to see alter in the confinement of the car.

They didn’t even know where Andy and Nick were. All that they knew was that they were buried. Literally buried. By a lift.

Simon was rumoured to be riding a horse at some point too.

What the actual hell was meant to be happening?

Irritated, John slipped his jacket from him and flung it to the backseat. He eyed Roger again, sweaty palms fidgeting with his the melting gel in his hair. John nodded, sneaky hands already creeping over to swipe the leather that coated Roger’s muscular frame.

John had been staring and staring, anything to try and keep cool. Both bodily and with stealth, sneaking glances when he could. His leathers were more than constricting now: the sight of a moist drummer ever so close to him was wreaking havoc on his brain. He was too pent up with energy, rumpled and flushed, just itching to either get the hell out of there or to let off some steam.

Funnily enough, he blamed the Taylor telepathy, Roger was just a beat behind.

Their gazes locked, beads of sweat dropping off of John’s overgrown blonde fringe and into his eyes. Roger chuckled lightly, a smooth hand already trying to fix John up.

John had a hand on his shirt buttons, popping open the first two. Roger reciprocated in kind.

They kept going, John’s chest now bare and Roger now shirtless. The air was thick, not only due to the unnecessary sweat and stuffy heat. John found that, even more so now, he just couldn’t tear his gaze away from his fellow Taylor. How Roger’s chest glistened with the sweat, how the little silver chain he wore was gleaming against his gorgeously tanned skin.

Without word, feeling a sudden rush at the danger of it all, John broke the barrier. He felt Roger’s heat, the strain coming to life under his very hand. John palmed him through his already incredibly tight leathers; sighing as he drew a soft moan from Roger.

Before long the drummer was bucking up into John’s palm, being chaffed by the heavy fabric. Little ‘swooshes’ as his hips rolled up in a perfect rhythm: not too fast; perfectly poised and controlled. His head had tipped back slightly, eyes drooping closed as John began to increase his speed. As John began to inch down the zip.

Roger’s eyes widened for a moment, head snapping to face John. John’s gaze met his, full of heat, his lips having dropped open to deliver a beautiful little moan. Without word, Roger’s calloused fingers joined John: prying into the leather and the underwear chaffing him below.

With a grunt, Roger helped John pull himself free, member bobbing in both hands. He was sweating again, lips parted as the drummer steadied his breathing. John gulped audibly, letting Roger’s fingers creep closer and settle around him. Around his bulge, bordering on painful, just aching to be freed from the cruel confinements of his prized leathers.

John’s hand began to move, up and down in controlled strokes. Roger freed him, instantly matching his pace like the perfect rhythm section they were. Little gasps escaped, hisses were dropped and lips were bitten as together, both Taylors drove the other slowly from reason.

John, impatient as ever, was first to increase his pace. His grip on Roger’s length tightened, he let slip a moan as his own juices began to flow. Roger used them, massaged them back across John’s aching member with grace and poise, without even breaking John’s rhythm.

He began to roll his hips up with it, coaxing Roger to do the same. John’s fingers picked up speed, rubbing more forcefully all over Roger. Base to tip, his fingers ran in circles that saw the drummer throw his head back and gasp in the pleasure.

John just couldn’t take it, take the heat. He had to taste Roger, he didn’t mind which end, but he knew that his hands couldn’t stop. He only prayed that Roger’s talented hands kept themselves stroking in time.

John shot himself forward, using his free hand to grasp at Roger’s jaw and pull him in for a kiss. His hands were running at top speed, bucking helplessly as Roger again upped his tempo to match John. The kiss wasn’t slow yet it was soft, John was trying to gnaw his way into Roger’s mouth: driving him further into insanity, swallowing the drummer’s delightful moans.

The kiss deepened, Roger let John in. Roger bucked his hips into John’s hand and John thrusted into his. Their tongues were betraying their sense of urgency, their breaths were being ripped from each other and swallowed by the other Taylor. Roger broke away first, attaching his lips to John’s cheek in dire need of a breath.

John froze, shuddering. Within moments he snapped back into action, a hand clawing at Roger’s hair, the other atop of his as he drew out his wave of nauseating pleasure. Roger shuddered and whined, the sound making John thrust and come harder. He let Roger milk him, yank any and all sense from him as his world came crumbling down, painting Roger’s hand white.

Roger felt John’s heat and was just a moment behind. He was seeing stars, near screaming into John’s mouth as together their hands worked on him and over his sensitive member. John kept on tugging, egging Roger on, determined to soak up every last drop he could offer him. To worship every bead that dropped from that glorious, weeping head.

Shivering, seeing spots, both Taylors fought to come back down. They both slumped forward, resting heavily against each other, struggling for breath. They were smiling, giggling, hastily trying to tuck themselves back in. Trying not to dwell on the sticky substances they left behind.

Still panting, Roger reeled John in and claimed his lips in his. John yelped before moulding into the kiss, contorting his body to meet the drummer. To feel his heat, to play his melody.


End file.
